


Running Red

by lovely_deathmxrch



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 18:08:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21140966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovely_deathmxrch/pseuds/lovely_deathmxrch
Summary: A quick Jarchie oneshot depicting the aftermath of 2x21, mostly from Archie's POV.





	Running Red

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so this is my first Riverdale fanfic! I hope you enjoy. This has some blood, brief violence, and some pretty depressing stuff.

Archie stared in anticipation at the figure emerging from the fog. An icy sensation sank into his very being, his dark blue gaze transfixed on what FP was holding in his arms. Jughead, his Jughead remained completely still, his arms hanging limp under him. His face was almost unrecognizable as it was covered in bruises of various shades of purple and blue. His impassive face was stained with a scarlet liquid.

The young man’s beanie was gone, his obsidian curls no longer sleek but matted and unruly. Archie’s horrified gaze traveled down Jughead’s arm, his serpent tattoo was gone. The only proof it was ever there was the deep long bleeding gash that decorated his shoulder. He could hear Betty sobbing and shrieking, Toni trying to comfort Cheryl, and Sweet Pea cursing at the wind with his words falling on deaf ears. Archie just stood there, mouth set in a straight grim line, eyes vacant, and thoughts ravaging in his head.

Jughead looked fragile, he looked vulnerable, he looked small, and he looked long gone. But he could see the faint and very small flutter of his chest, moving up and down. And all he could manage to focus on was one thought, one heart wrenching notion. ‘This is my fault.’ But he was snapped out of his frozen state by FP, screaming. Screaming at everyone and anyone to help him. To help Jughead. His breath hitched and he stepped forward instinctively.

An incessant ringing resonated from Betty’s phone as she tried to call for a hospital. Nothing. Again and again she dialed the number, her hands trembling. Nothing. They were busy, Riverdale was in complete chaos. There was probably people flooding the hospital, leaving the phones neglected and useless.

The words left his lips out of their own accord before even registering in his head. “We can drive to the hospital in my dad’s truck.” His voice was hollow and shaky. FP didn’t skip a beat and simply agreed. Archie carefully approached the unconscious Jughead, slipping his arms under his knees and his lower back, holding him bridal style as FP had done.

Jughead groaned in protest, his head lolling around as he started to squirm weakly. Archie pressed a soft kiss to the young man’s forehead, trying to get him to stay still. Jughead stopped moving, but his lips curled into a deep frown accompanied by what he could only describe as whimpers of protest. Everyone else agreed to meet them there once they managed to calm the Serpents for even a few hours. Archie sat in the passenger seat with Jughead cradled in his arms while FP took the wheel and began basically racing to the hospital.

_ **Jughead POV ** _

Jughead couldn’t see, his ears were ringing, and everything burned. It was like he was being held underwater with weights on his chest. His limbs felt as if they were made entirely of lead. He could barely move, and not because something or someone was holding him firmly into an awkward position that made him feel like a rag-doll. Every muscle in his body was seized up. His body was struggling to recover, to repair the damage. Unable to make any movements of true significance. He couldn’t wake up, not completely at least.

On each arm there was a certain burning sensation that resonated throughout his entire being. He didn’t need a mirror to know that he looked grotesque, like a heavily battered and bloodied corpse. Everything felt like it was going too slow but still not fast enough. Breathing became wheezing and desperately gasping for breath as his chest started tightening. He couldn’t tell how long it had been since he was handed to the stranger but he could feel himself being shifted.

Suddenly the smell of chemicals and blood flooded into his nostrils, waking up every part of him that had been dormant for what felt like an eternity. Everything around him was a blinding white that made him squeeze his eyes tight and attempt to curl into himself. He was being jostled around, ripped from the familiar warmth that shut down every instinct that made him want to flee. He was jostled around and tossed onto the cold sheets of what he could only hope was a gurney. The dark haired boy began thrashing wildly, desperately calling out for help and trying to swat away anything that came near him. He wasn’t in the right state of mind to even think about what was going on.

Every muscle in his body screamed in protest but he didn’t stop, he just screamed louder until his cries escalated into blood curdling screams that ripped through his throat. Voices came from every direction, calling out what sounded like gibberish to him. All he could think about was- Legs and fists, striking him from all around, giving him no room to protect himself. A sharp blade, digging into his flesh and spilling his blood onto the forest floor. The scorching heat of the fire nearby that illuminated the gruesome scene unfolding in Fox Forest.

And suddenly he felt it, the feeling of something digging into his arm. Once the initial stab of pain started melting away he felt something else, a drowsiness that slowly settled over his mind and weakened the strength of his thrashing limbs. He was sinking, falling deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, fighting to protect himself from whatever it was that was going on. But eventually he could do no more and with a final whisper of a cry for help he let himself fall prey to sleep’s comforting embrace.

_ **Archie POV ** _

That was the most terrifying scene of the entire night. It wasn’t watching ‘The Black Hood’ break into his house and then shoot his Dad for what felt like the millionth time. It wasn’t throwing flaming glass bottles at the Ghoulies as they led the charge against the Northsiders in Pop’s. It wasn’t even watching FP emerge from the fog with a frail and battered Jughead in his arms. It was watching the boy he loved go from still and peaceful to a maimed and petrified animal. He cried out for help until his blood curdling screams were all that was to be heard in the hospital halls, scarlet staining the snowy white sheets of the gurney as he writhed around to avoid all the hands reaching to hold him down. And he only stilled once they drugged him with a needle full of morphine.

Once he was unconscious again they whisked him away to the ER, and all he could hear was Jughead’s screams replaying in his head. At some point he found himself sitting down in the waiting room, hunched over with his head in his hands and tears dripping onto the tiled floor. He could feel his hands trembling, cold and clammy after scrubbing his lover’s blood off of them until they were red and raw. He didn’t know when Betty and Veronica got there but he could see them out of the corner of his eye. Betty’s vibrant pink coat and Veronica’s black trench coat. He could feel their hands on his back as they tried to bring him out of his blank state but he didn’t move. He was still as a statue and his thoughts were once again running rampant.

All he could think about was the if’s of the situation. If he had been there, if he had been with Jughead he could’ve protected him, he could’ve stopped him from going to Fox Forest. But where was he when his boyfriend needed him? He was with Betty, watching as they dragged her father off. It hadn’t occurred to him that the Serpents would be having trouble with the Ghoulies after they had run from Pop’s.

The guilt seeped deeper and deeper into his fragile glass heart, freezing and shattering it into tiny shards. And even now as he heard Alice Cooper whispering sweet nothings like “Jughead’s a strong boy, he’ll pull through” to FP, who didn’t seem to be doing any better than him, he couldn’t bring himself to pick up the broken pieces laying at his feet.

_You wear guilt like shackles on your feet _

_Like a halo in reverse _

_-Depeche Mode _

Everything around Archie was imploding, everything was tearing at the seams, and he was absolutely helpless. He felt nauseous, he wasn’t someone who just stood around like a fool, he was someone who took action but not now, not this time because now he was the one who needed help. He needed his Jughead to hug him and hold him and tell him that everything would be alright. But his Jughead was in surgery, fighting for every single breath he took. It was an eternity before a stranger's voice shattered the silence. “Forsythe Jones’ family?” Archie’s head snapped up and he didn’t hesitate to follow FP and the doctor into a separate hallway. He felt this nagging dread looming over him as he listened to this man start to speak. “He has mostly superficial wounds like bruises and cuts but he also has a few fractured bones, internal bleeding, a pierced lung, a severe gash on his shoulder, and some severe head trauma.”

Archie’s knees felt like they were going to buckle under his weight at this point. He was mentally and physically fatigued and everything that came out of this quack doctor’s mouth sounded like something severe or fatal. “Is he going to be ok?” The words left a repulsive taste of bile in his mouth. The doctor bit his lip slightly, a pensive look in his eyes. “That is still to be determined over the coming weeks. The surgery was to help stop the internal bleeding and to heal the worst of his superficial wounds but we have to wait until his lung and his bones repair themselves. Even then the head trauma he incurred means he’ll be in a coma until there is a change in his RAS’ state. He’ll be here a maximum of a month or so.” He replied.

Everything the man had said had instantly went through one ear and out the other the moment he mentioned the coma. “Coma?” He repeated dumbly, his lips pressed into a thin line. The doctor nodded. He massaged his temples with his fingers, trying to clear the tension stirring in his head. “Can we see him?” He dared to ask, a sliver of hope in his tired and broken voice. “He just got out of surgery so you two may see him, he’s in room 206.” He sighed gratefully and whispered a quiet thank you to the doctor. With his heart in his throat he slowly made his way to Jughead’s room. ‘199, 200, 204, 205, 206…’ He paused outside the threshold of the blindingly white room.

The air reeked of medical gauze and chemicals. The pounding of his distressed heart roaring in his ears. His stomach lurched and his breath hitched. ‘Jughead….’ The boy didn’t look much better than he had when he had been brought in. His smooth skin was pale and a sickly shade of gray, his hair matted but no longer coated with blood, large purple bruises trailed down from his neck all the way to his neck, collarbone, and arms, butterfly bandages littered his skin over every cut on his impassive face, and his eye was swollen shut.

Archie had barely made his way to Jug’s bedside when his knees gave out and he collapsed onto the chair beside the bed. His eyes glazed over with unshed tears, his throat clogged with sobs that were never set free. The air felt chilly and frozen despite the warmth that usually came from his varsity jacket. His head throbbed painfully between his clammy hands. Black spots danced in his vision as he leaned against the wall to keep himself awake. All he could see was Jughead’s pale and unmoving figure and all he could hear were the heart wrenching screams that tore through Jughead’s throat as he was ripped out of Archie’s arms.

FP sat down beside Archie hugging him close, desperately holding on to the person closest to his boy. Eventually his frantic heartbeat died down to steady thumps once more. But even as the minutes turned to hours and people drifted in and out to visit the pale boy resting on the hospital bed, Archie remained by his side. People continued flooding the halls to bring in new patients and in their haste no doctor or nurse thought to look in room 206, where a redheaded Riverdale Bulldog sat like a guard dog beside his comatose Serpent lover for the entirety of the eternal night.

Day in and day out Archie was there through every visit. Toni and Cheryl’s weekly visits, Betty and Veronica’s daily checkups, Fred and FP’s reprimands and silent watches. The days were eternal inside the hospital halls. Sometimes Jughead would start writhing and crying out in fear, not awake but not completely unconscious. It was like watching him dangle from the verge of insanity before his very eyes. As if his life were a fine thread. He’d hold on for hours, his place in the land of the living reserved for only him until he returned, and then it would start slipping, and the tapestry of his life would begin to unravel, morphing and disfiguring into an empty void of fear and confusion for a few chilling moments, only for him to reach out and catch it between his fingers, clinging to it once more.

And then there were the days when nothing would happen, where he’d sit still and silent with the steady beeping of Jughead’s heart monitor bringing him to the brink of a mental breakdown. But he never left the room. He’d pace in front of his bed, hold his cold limp hand in his warm grasp, sit and crouch next to Jughead’s bedside, and settle next to him but he wouldn’t leave. To soothe his own guilty conscience he’d speak to him as if he were listening. Apologizing, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, and begging him to come back to him. His fiery red hair was disheveled and messy, dark circles encircled his sapphire gaze, and his lips seemed permanently twisted into a frown.

Eventually his father and FP arrived for their daily check up. He was once again reprimanded and ordered to go home, shower, and take a nap. Before he could protest his father promised to call if there was a change in Jughead’s state. So after he was handed the keys to his father’s truck he begrudgingly left the hospital for the first time in days. The air nipped at his skin as he made his way over to the truck. He did as he was told and headed home, his brows furrowed in frustration the entire way there. As he made his way into his home and headed up the stairs his facade dropped and he was left looking frail and terrified. The moment he stepped into the shower the wall he had put up crumbled. His anguished cries filled the air, salty tears mixing with the stream of cold water thrumming against his skin. He tugged at his hair, rage and frustration rising like a wave in him. He’d been so ignorant this entire time.

Leaving his boyfriend behind for some crazy mobster. Was this his punishment? Having him close but with no way to communicate to him? With no way to apologize for being so stupid? That must be it. He was disheartened, exhausted, enraged, and guilty. He was doused in guilt as if it were gasoline, it soaked into every crevice of his body. And seeing his boyfriend fragile and vulnerable set him ablaze. The agonizing flames of his guilt ripped through him day after day. He stood in the shower for about an hour, until his entire body was completely soaked.

Until the numbness of his skin could make up for the fire on the inside of him. He absentmindedly picked an outfit and tugged it on, simply collapsing onto his bed afterwards. But he didn’t close his eyes, he’d never close his eyes. Because when the air was silent and still and nothing but darkness was in sight, he swore he could hear the sound of a flatline in the back or his head.

~_Timeskip_~

Archie was back in Jughead’s room, alone. Their hands were intertwined and he swore that Jughead’s hand was warm. He wasn’t sure though considering that one of the many things that came with sleep deprivation were hallucinations. Eventually he released the boy’s hand and brushed his dark hair away from his forehead. His hand gently cupping his face. “You can wake up… I’ll be better this time, I’ll stay with you… I’ll do anything… I just want you back..” He pleaded, his voice brittle and thick with tears. Archie pressed a whisper of a kiss to his lover’s forehead and settled back in his seat, his eyes dull and void of their usual glimmer.

The same routine repeated for the rest of the month. Days and days of sitting in the hospital at Jughead’s side before being sent back home. He did eventually faint a few times at home the moment he would arrive at his bed. But he never had any pleasant dreams, all of them had him waking up screaming and gasping for breath. Until that fateful day arrived.

Archie was sitting by Jughead’s side like always, his head between his hands when he heard a quiet groan. His reflexes kicked in and his head shot up in alarm. He was expecting to see the beginning of one of Jughead’s fits but that wasn’t the case. The dark haired a Serpent was shifting around in the bed, his brows furrowed in confusion. It felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Jughead was awake, his aquamarine and sky blue marbled eyes fluttering open and moving around the room. And at last they fell on Archie. “Arch?” His voice was low and raspy. “Where are we? Why do you look like shit?” Archie laughed, he laughed for the first time in a month. He stood slowly and carefully wrapped his arms around the shorter boy, tears rolling down his porcelain skin. “Because someone loves to take his time.” He retorted, trying to hide how much he was crying. . “Archie are you ok?” Jughead asked hesitantly, seeming a bit concerned for his boyfriend’s sanity. “Yeah… Yeah I’m fine.”

_“We’re fine..” _

_ **Fin** _


End file.
